


Don't bury your Death Mask

by Xou



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Claire Stanfield is a literal representation of Death, Death reaper AU, F/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xou/pseuds/Xou
Summary: This is a story about love and a story about death.Throughout the years, Chané has met Death a certain amount of times. Ultimately, she has grown familiar with the black trench coat draping behind his back, the red hair at the top of his head and of course, the white mask over his face, masking his features.This is a story about them.
Relationships: Chane Laforet/Claire Stanfield, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nice Holystone/Jacuzzi Splot
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Don't bury your Death Mask

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an alternate universe where the representations of Death exist, but I stick pretty close to cannon events nonetheless.  
> There are multiple representation of Death, but for how their system work, you can pretty much make a lot of your own head canons. I personally see as a job passed from one person to another, with the responsibility that comes with it. Death is pretty much immortal if they want to be, yet isn't the same thing as regular immortals or demons in the Baccano universe. Since it's a tittle that can be passed, they technically can ''retire'' when they want if they've found someone to take the tittle from them.
> 
> I wouldn't tag this work as mature, but it definitely isn't for everyone. Make sure to read the tag and take care of yourself. Have a fun time reading!

This is a story about love and a story about death.

Throughout the years, Chané has met Death a certain amount of times. Ultimately, she has grown familiar with the black trench coat draping behind his back, the red hair at the top of his head and of course, the white mask over his face, masking his features.

This is a story about them.

  
  
  


|.X.|

  
  


The first time Chané sees Death, she's barely old enough to truly understand what she witness.

Things go extremely fast even before her father shield her eyes from the gruesome explosion of blood staining his white clothes.

Young as she is, Chané can't suppress the shivers running down her small body as she feels her father blood also run down the hand covering her eyes. Not seeing anything almost scares her more than seeing how much her father has been hurt. At least, the hand covering her eyes was still solid, so she knew that the wound wasn't that bad. But ignoring the amount of damages dealt was still worrisome, even if she had already seen her fair amount of grime sights before. Although she knew that her father couldn’t die, she does realize that even if something doesn’t kill someone, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt them.

Even at her early age, her childhood had never been standard and from this point forward it would only grow weirder.

Immortality was already one thing to grasp. Death was a whole other matter.

She doesn’t even flinch when the hand slowly lift away from her eyes. Despite the corpse resting there.

Her sight doesn’t linger on the corpse. It’s not the first dead person she’s seen. However, usually they’re in her father laboratory, cold and their skin turning blue. Her father rather disliked killing after all, but one of the better way to learn about the human body was through dissection. As for the corpse, the cold blood underneath their skin bloomed like larkspur flowers, cold flowers underneath the blade of the scalpel. Nonetheless , even as it is her first time seeing a fresh body, she's more interested in the figure dressed in black standing next to the body.

The first time Chané sees the grim reaper, she notice the flamboyant red hairs waving at the top of his head. It is almost as red as the blood still flowing on the floor and staining her father white clothes. The shock of red hairs contrast with this tall figure, dressed entirely in black, except from the white mask over his face, hiding his features completely.

The mask is the blankest human face imaginable, with a normal nose, mouth and thin lips, two holes for the eyes. Chané isn't close enough to see Death eyes, she isn't even sure the one hiding behind it would have human features. The most distinct thing about the mask is the design of a flower gently blooming on one of the cheek. The design is as generic as the mask itself, Chané not identifying what type of flower it is right away, somehow feeling intimidated to stare at what she thinks is a man.

The figures doesn’t seem to notice her or her father either. It’s difficult to know for sure with his mask, but he doesn’t says a word and doesn’t ask any question. He simply comes and almost gently close the eyes of the now corpse.

Chané steals a look toward her father. She’s not sure about what she is seeing, but if anyone could explain the supernatural presence in front of her eyes, it would be him. After all, Huey has an answer for everything. Her father possess all the knowledge in the world and yet, he always try to find out more, learn the meaning of life itself, the nature of the soul.

  
  


Nothing could have prepared her for the look of pure interest on his face, the most complete fascination shown for the figure dressed in black.

It almost scares her because she has never seen such an expression on his face until that very moment. She never believed that something could make her father so enthralled. The smile on his face almost seems obscene. Something twisted, corrupt about this intense interest sparked on Huey’s face.

The figures stays indifferent in front of them. He doesn’t come for them. He has no interest for the living.

He comes simply to close the corpse eyes and is then gone like a blink of the eye.

Her father offers no explanation. He doesn’t say a word and yet, the look on his face doesn’t go away. He continues to stare at where the figure was standing a minute ago, even if the only thing left there is the corpse, slowly turning cold.

  
  


It was the first time that Chané would see Death. Yet, the same night, she dreams about red hair and red blood, flowing flowing flowing. A white mask hiding death’s features and scaring her in her sleep.

Next time there’s a corpse in her father laboratory, she try to avoid it as much as possible, just in case the figure in black would be there too.

  
  


|.X.|

  
  
  


The second time Chané sees Death is the day of her first murder.

She has grown older and stronger since the last time she has seen the anonymous figure. After all, she has to be stronger if she wants to protect her father. Protect the secret he entrusted her with. She has to be stronger and have no fear.

This is why she has no regret and no hesitation cutting down the man that was threatening her home and happiness. Even if she doesn’t like the splash of warm red, bursting out of the man’s body like red spider lilies growing and flowing out, flowers flowing out, falling forward and soiling her fingers and knife. She doesn’t feel apologetic, but still, she can’t help the feeling of aberration and hate toward the fact of taking someone life.

All lives are precious. But here she is, just trying to protect her and her father life.

  
  


She has no fears. And this is why she doesn’t even flinch when the man dressed in black appears in front of her eyes. She maybe hold on tighter to the weapon in her hand. She shouldn’t have to fear Death. Despite the fact she sometimes still have nightmare where his white mask appears. In her dreams, the reaper is looking straight through her, as if she isn’t even there and yet, his stare jails her in place, chaining her down while she woke up, silently screaming.

Chané doesn’t trust to make a move while in Death presence.

Even if the stench and feels of blood on her fingers is starting to feel very uncomfortable, almost agonizing, she doesn’t make a move and wait for him to slowly close the eyes of her victim and disappear, as he did the very first time she had seen him.

Their first encounter is still graved in her brains and this is why she doesn’t make a move. She expect him to be gone right away.

Yet, as the redhead comes and close the man eyes and she waits for him to vanish, he stays for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Instead of fading away as she expected, he slowly turns toward her. It is only her second time seeing Death and even if Chané is not as young as the first time, she can’t help the feeling of dread pooling inside of her.

The man slowly takes a step in her direction and even if she wants to run, she wants to flee, she know she shouldn’t- she can’t show him fear. She can’t show that she is afraid as Death watches her behind his mask. She can’t see the expression on his face and his posture doesn’t let her read anything about what his intention are. That scares her. Or maybe it is because she remembers the look of fascination on her father face the first time they had met. She still doesn’t have an explanation.

She doesn’t dare to look away.

The feeling of anxiety only gets worst as Death comes nearer and nearer to her, until he is standing right in front of her, impossibly tall. His black coat just flow softly with a gust of wind passing by, between the both of them. The distance between him and Chané feels incredibly too close as he slowly bends down to be at her level.

At this point, Chané doesn’t even dare to breath and yet, she feels herself trembling slightly.

The blood on her hands is starting to feel cold.

  
  


He slowly raises a hand toward her face and that’s when she finally wake up from her stillness and flinch back. Almost as a impulse, she raise her knife in front of her to defend her person, just in case. His hand stays still, for a moment and that’s when she hears a soft voice says a single word:

‘‘Strange…’’

  
  


She doesn’t expect the soft voice coming from underneath his white mask. And with no expression coming with this word, she doesn’t know how to feel or how to react. Chané didn’t expect for the figure to say a word after all. Maybe this is why she stay still even as he disappear in front of her eyes. She doesn’t move for a long time and she regrets it later as she cleans her hands and the knife she was clutching this whole time.

The blood had time to dry and it flakes of, like red spider lily petals in the sink. Delicate and poisonous, just like death.

Red like the strands of red hair escaping as the back of his mask, the only features that let her know this was the same man as before, the same apparition of Death in front of her eyes.

When the anonymous white mask follows her in her dreams, she still wake up in a cold sweat. Yet, she tries to face her fears. She shouldn’t fear Death with what she know. She shouldn’t have to fear Death.

  
  


She will be prepared the next time they have to meet.

It’s not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when.

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


She’s almost disappointed the next time they see each other, the man doesn’t acknowledge her presence again. He continues to do so for their next few meetings and she is slowly growing restless in his presence.

Not because Chané particularly wants for Death to acknowledge her. But after his single words addressed to her, she expected something else, something more.

She’s not sure how she should go about it. She’s growing older and steadily becoming taller, yet the red haired man still towers over her. She guess that at this point, he always will. He always stays intimidating, impossibly tall in his long black coat and with the white mask over his face still obscuring his features.

The blood on her hands continues to feel just as uncomfortable after all this time.

Yet, Death never shows disgust toward what she’ve done or any other emotions toward the people she kills. He simply comes to close their eyes and then disappear, with the jerk of his coat behind him. Gone, without a trace, in just one moment.

Chané takes almost a grim sense of satisfaction to see that sometimes the action of touching her victim can lightly stains his finger. It’s not the pure bright red of direct contact with the blood, burning red like his hair. It’s just a soft touch of it, just at the tip of his hands, like soft azalea sprouting up. A delicate shade of pink lightly blooming, showing that somehow her actions can still mark him. Even if he seems incredibly far away.

She doesn’t know why it’s so important. But she feels pride in the fact that this proof that she can somehow put a physical trace on the elusive figure of Death. Just like the white mask have left a trace in her brain, refusing to leave her thought. Dismissing leaving her alone, even when she sleeps.

The blood on his fingers, the flower she managed to put on him. It somehow serves as proof that not only she has seen Death, but that he has seen her in return, once before. And that in a way, he’s still not out of her reach, even if he always disappears once he has come and done what he needed to do.

Somehow, Chané thinks the red haired man seems to still lingers a bit after each and all of her victims. The moment they feel together always flows slowly, like sand slowly flowing in the hourglass and than, all at once, as if the moment crashed onto the floor, shards of glass raining everywhere.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking on her part. She still doesn’t like killing people, even if she has to, in order to protect her father and the secret they keep. In order to prove herself. She tries not to focus on the victim themselves. Just the soft shade of pink at the tip of Death’s fingers.

She doesn’t know how to make him stays. She doesn’t know when and why she started to feel this way. The only thing she knows is that where once dread, fear and anger filled her, a new sort of feeling has taken their place. She’s not sure how to name it. She’s not sure she wants to.

It’s been a few years at this point and Chané has lost track of the number of time she has seen Death when he decides to talk to her again.

It’s not like she had lost hope. It’s maybe their fifth or sixth meeting, yet, it still feel entirely too long since the last time they have seen each other. But still, her heart leaps up in her throat when she hears the sweet voice coming from underneath his mask:

‘‘Why exactly are you doing this? I can tell you don’t like killing.’’

If she could talk, she would ask how he knew this, how he managed to guess. She has so many things to ask him, why and how he started to notice her when the first time he’d looked straight through her. Why he continued to act like this after first talking to her.

Yet, she can’t say anything. Not because she doesn’t want to. She tries to gently show him she can’t answer him like that, yet, the man in front of her doesn’t let her time to gesture this. He almost immediately continue questioning her with his next sentence:

‘‘If you understood the question, at least say something.’’

Death, this time, wait a second. She still can’t read him, not with the white mask over his face. However, if she let that intimidate her, she wouldn’t be there standing in front of death, attempting to have a conversation with him. Well, as much of a conversation as she can, considering she’s mute. While the grim reaper is still waiting for her to say something, she instead lightly gesture a hand over her throat before shaking her head. Even if she can’t see the man face and expression, she somehow know he understood that she can’t reply to him with her words. She’s not sure how she can tell, but a moment latter, he confirms it by apologizing:

‘‘Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry.’’

They’re standing looking at each other for a moment.

She can’t speak and the mask over his features makes it impossible for Chané to read the man face. They are at an impossible standpoint and maybe Death is starting to realize he will never have his answers. Chané wouldn’t know how to explain why she does the thing she do, even if she loathes doing them. She’s not sure he would understand why she’s devoted herself completely to protect her father. Even if it means killing people.

After all, he’s the only person who loves her, her only family. She can’t afford for him to be put in danger.

Still, they look at each other, or rather Chané looks at death mask for a long time, before he gently lift a hand toward her face. She doesn’t flinch this time, even though she hadn’t realized they were standing so close to each other. Yet, even if Chané is trying to stay as still as possible and simply watch the hand suspended in the air, Death seems to be hesitating.

‘‘Will you try to attack me once again if I do this?’’

Her lack of answer or protest must be good enough for him, because after a moment, he simply extend his hand once again and Chané lets him touch her face.

His fingers are warmer than what she would have thought. His hand are delicate, yet still ooze warmth. She can see clearly the soft shade of pink touching the tips of his fingers.

They stay like this for a moment, before he continues talking:

‘‘Just to make sure, isn’t it right that you don’t like killing people?’’

She simply nods as an answer.

She doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s smiling as he says: ‘‘I see. Well, then that’s fine.’’

He continues with a question that take her by surprise:

‘‘ And if you had the chance to become an immortal like your father, would you do it?’’

Instinctively, she shakes her head no. Even if it was possible for her, she can’t shake the feeling of wrongness when thinking of this question. Naturally, Death would know about his father immortality after this one had lived so long and still managed to evade him, yet Chané can’t help but thinking that this feels wrong. She’s supposed to protect him, yet she couldn’t help but be taken back by this question.

She hesitates only after having shown her answer. Would this one have been the same if it was her father asking this and not death itself? She can’t know for sure, because she vowed to protect him for as long as she was alive. If she could live forever, this devotion wouldn’t have to stop and she never would have to consider that Huey one day would be apart from her. Yet, she promised that she wouldn’t use the knowledge he had let her for her own purpose. It would also put her in the same kind of situation as him and she can’t allow that. Even if declining immortality means that one day, Death will come for Chané herself, taking her father away from her, she’s willing to take that risk.

It’s with this newfound certitude that she looks at the man in front of her. The white mask doesn’t betray his emotion, but she know even before he says ‘‘You’re such a good girl.’’ that he is proud of her choice.

Usually, this sentence said by anybody except her father would have completely disgusted her. Yet, she can’t help the warmth climbing to her cheeks and colouring them in a pretty pink.

Before she can even registers his next words, he slowly backs away, the hotness of his fingers fading away from her face. Yet, the heated feeling of her face doesn’t go away for a long time, even as the man disappear, parting with a simple: ‘‘I’ll see you next time.’’

  
  


This meeting leaves her even more confused than when he was ignoring her.

This night, she dreams of the usual white mask, but also of soft azalea flowers and the touch of Death on her cheek.

She wished that she could have told him: ‘‘Please find me, I’ll be waiting.’’

‘‘I won’t try to find you, but I’ll be waiting.’’

  
  


Somehow, Chané could guess that he still understood her answers. So she waits patiently for Death.

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


Her father was worrying her.

  
  


He was staying more and more time in his laboratory, talking to himself under his breath. She wasn’t sure what he was saying, a mix between Italian, french, English and maybe Latin, nonsense words one after the other. The scent of coffee was ever present on his person. The mountains of papers on every surface of his work space were ever so growing and getting taller. The dark bags under his eyes and his manic attitude showed Chané that Huey wasn’t sleeping. The shadow on his face were becoming after all purple, like wisteria flower blooming underneath his eyes. Even if immortals technically couldn’t die of exhaustion, she knew that none of this was healthy either for him or his state of mind. The worst things certainly was that she couldn’t do anything to help him.

She also can’t do anything to calm her own worries as she watches him slowly go into madness.

She doesn’t say a words and simply try to take care of him as well as she can. Bringing him food that Huey barely touches. Trying to clean up the papers accumulating in hope that it will snap him out of it. Huey is usually very protective of what he’s working on. Chané normally understood that he was only protecting her in this way, since the result of those research could usually put her more in danger, even if she had no vocal cords to tell all that she knew. But even then, he never says anything to her, the fact she’s looking through his work not even provoking him.

It’s when she finds sketches upon sketches of a mask, a mask she has grown entirely too familiar with that the panic really start to set. Anxiety is pulling at her inside because she has no idea what her father is planning, but she knows it can’t be anything good. The same mask is delicately drawn one hundred time, under different angles and she keep finding more and more pages filled with them. Blank mask that still seems to be looking straight through her, despite the fact they are simply portrayed. Masks watching her, fingers tinted with pink, the smell of coffee and dried flowers overwhelming and making her silently heave.

  
  


When Huey is captured, Chané’s there ready at the front line to kill anyone that would put themselves between her and the only person who loves her. Yet, the looks he send her, she knows he disagree, so she rest painfully still as he’s taken away from her.

Helpless to stop them. Helpless to save her world.

Later, she’s putting some order in his workplace, trying to guess what he could be planning, looking for a clue, anything. She finds a white mask, the mask she had found drawing off all over the place, a mask that is so intimate she drops it like it has burned her.

She can’t explain it.

Huey never have given her explanation. Never for this fascination or why he has a copy of the mask.

It burns, it burns. Not knowing hurts so bad, burns like a bullet wound. She’s just following a plan where she’s not even sure what her part is. However, what is Chané supposed to do? She just follows and follows, a beautiful puppet, that willingly let her strings lovingly pulled by the only person that cares about her. If it’s for him, Chané is willing to go against all of her instinct.

But it’s with the mask somewhere in the skirt of her black dress that she board the flying pussyfoot.

|.X.|

  
  


And nothing goes according to plan.

  
  


.

.

.

  
  


Chané’s standing at the top of the train. The strength of the wind nearly enough to make her stumble and fall and yet, she stands strong. Time seems to have stopped for just a moment and she knows that she is willing to throw her life away if not to protect the other black suits, but the senator’s wife and her daughter.

The child was innocent after all and she didn’t deserve to see Death so early in her life. Chané knows that much.

Still, her devotion speak for itself, that she is willing to put herself in danger and risk her life for a bunch of men that would and will sacrifice her the moment she stops being useful. She didn't agree with them in the first place, but Chané feels that her father would want her to be on the train either way. If only to make sure the lemures don't go too far, so she can stop them if they go against Huey's principles. Or try to kill more innocent people on this train. It shouldn't be their job in the first place.

Speaking of Death, Chané is sure that she has seen the drape of his black coat a few time with a flash of his red hair, always exiting a room when she enters it. She knows he could be at nearly every corner here. She has yet to come face to face with him, however as she is waiting at the top of the train, she replays his last words in her mind. It burns her to be waiting for him, a pleasant burn in her heart and maybe this is why she slowly takes out the mask from under her skirt to put on her face.

The mask that first gave her this impression of dread the first time she saw it in her father laboratory. However, now that it’s on her face, it feels comfortable. Her vision was maybe a little impaired, but it doesn’t trouble her as much as she would have thought.

  
  


And that’s when the blond haired man appears in front of her. He's talking a lot. She can’t understand everything he says (they’re both at the top of a moving train, rolling at great speed, the wind violently whistling around them), but she doesn’t really want to listen to him. His intention are clear in his stance at least. He's prepared to attack, to kill judging by the way his white suit is already drenched in blood (she notes that it’s much more visible on the white cloth than it would be on a familiar black trench coat). He knows that she know she’s not the first prey he takes in chase. Chané is prepared however and open her arms, ready to throw her knife.

That's when the first bullet is shot and she magically deflects it, as if faith itself is trying to protect her.

She has never met Faith. She isn't even sure it exist. However, she has met Death. Many time before. And she hopes to continue to met him. Many time again.

Yet, she won't let death come for her in this battle with the white suit.

So she defends herself. Chané and the blond haired man against each other, fighting on the top of the train, as if they are dancing around each other.

Dance macabre.

  
  


Despite the wind, the moving train and their fight, the white mask stays firmly on Chané’s face.

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


This is a story about love and a story about death.

We have spent enough time talking about the later, let's talk about love now. Yes yes, let's do that.

.

.

.

Jacuzzi Splot was not a lucky man. Never has been and probably never will be.

This story all started with him and some of his gang finding the corpses of eight of their friends. They had been shot dead, the warmth already having left their body as their blood goes to tint the pavement of Chicago city. The amount of tears Jacuzzi cried wasn't enough to clean it. The grim reaper was already gone from the scene and yet, the corpses had been left there, like a message, like a warning.

They never were model citizens. Far from it. Yet, Jacuzzi was the one in charge of their band of misfits. They weren't really evil either, just a bunch of kids and teenagers trying to make a living of themselves in the streets. Until their activity was stopped brutally by the Russo. Not for any reasons. They weren't a menace and the small business they had was not particularly threatening. Just because they dared to sell liquor in their territory, the executives chose to pull the trigger and make them pay.

He wasn't even sure what he was doing when he took the shotgun to go raid the buildings of the ones responsible for it. Or in fact, Jacuzzi was vaguely aware of what he was doing in the back of his mind, but he was just so mad and so afraid too. Even as the regret still eats at him, he doesn't feel bad for avenging his friends and he know he would do the same thing again in her heartbeat if it meant protecting his gang. Taking a stance against organized crime saying that their small gang wouldn't be pushed around and this wouldn't stop them from just trying to survive. Even so, Jacuzzi was terrified as he gave the order to fight the Russo with all their might.

He still remembers the warmth of Nice's hand on his shoulder as he was crying out and screaming, long after they found the corpses. Her hands are so gentle for someone building bombs, bringing gentle delayed destruction. They have to be delicate, he knows, yet he never stop being surprised by this fact. They are so warm too, as she gently wipe away his non-ending tears, the tear he's also crying for her too. He’s not afraid to completely crumble down in front of her, because he know that no matter how much he breaks, she’ll always be there to pick up his pieces and pull him back together once again. Jacuzzi know that it can't be easy on her to be so tough all the time and to endlessly support someone like him. She’s so strong and the only force supporting him when he is so weak and so open to the emotion burning inside of him. Jacuzzi appreciates her endlessly for this and he knows the warmth he feels burning inside of him is love too.

He loves her so much. He would do anything to protect her.

  
  


That's what he tells to himself when they board the train. He continues to tell himself so as everything goes off the rails.

The first priority is protecting his friends, the ones who are dear to him and also, save to the train passengers. The problem is that both conductors at the end of the train are dead and Jacuzzi has no idea of what he's doing or what he should do. However, this fact is not anything new and even if he doesn't know about what he's doing, he know that it is something right. He’s just running based on what was he senses and he’ll figure things out along the way. He’s just running, always running and maybe it’s this almost manic energy that seems to have possessed him that gives him the courage to kiss his girlfriend for the first time. 

As he gently press his lips against Nice's lips, he know that there is no place for regret and hesitation. It's time for courage and devotion and he poured his heart out with this kiss that he's sure will be the last and first one. 

To his surprise, even if the kiss barely last a few seconds, he stills has time to feels surprised that her lips feels just as soft as her hands are to him. Scars and all.

His is a story about love. A love willing to make the great sacrifice just in the chance that he will be able to protect the ones he hold in his heart. The heart of a gentle knight, pure and white like an Edelweiss.

  
  


Luck may not be on Jacuzzi side, neither is Fate and it never will be. But Death is there, with every step he takes. Jacuzzi himself knows what he is risking, but he’s not aware of the physical presence on his side. Death isn’t even being perceived, because Death isn’t there for him, only there as an observer. . Death may not be able to understand, but he is able to admire this human and to offer a simple blessing for the young man still going on his way, before Death gets called to his deathly duty and disappear.

It is not the time nor place for Jacuzzi Splot to die after all. As this is a story about love and a story about death and a story about both.

  
  


|.X.|

Nick knows that he probably shouldn't say it, but since it's only him and Nice that have been left behind, he can't help it anymore. Already, it was bothering him at the start, but the more time pass, he's getting more and more concerned and no one seems to be addressing the big issue on this train:

‘‘ Wait if all the conductors are dead... Who's supposed to drive this thing?! ’’

Nice looks at him, her cheeks still a little red from the kiss she exchanged with Jacuzzi. She seems dumbfounded for a moment, before she gets her regular thinking face on. Nick doesn't like this face, it usually means she is building some sort of explosive in her brain, putting all the part together for a fiery result. And he certainly gets it when he hear her answer:

‘‘ Well, I suppose you would have to do it for now, wouldn't you? ’’

Some days, he really wish he was doing literally anything else but this with his life.

He doesn't notice Death slowly guiding him to do the right things. No need to endanger even more passengers on this train.

|.X.|

Chané is getting exhausted.

She’s still standing on her feet, but she keeps loosing the man in the white suit until he comes back to fight her again. It’s difficult and it’s more the feeling of having to come back to running and then back to fighting constantly that is so tiring. She has no moment to relax as she has to be prepared for anything, standing on her toes.

And she knows she has to be prepared for anything when the figure dressed in white appears again and _calls her by her name_.

It sends fright down her inside and as she turns around, she can only stares as the man continues talking and expose to her all that he knows, all that he learned about her. Chané stays petrified in place, watching him and waiting for his next moves as his silhouette is getting closer and closer to where she is standing.

It’s only when he implies that she is a naive little lass, that her father shouldn’t be trusted, that Huey was simply using her - she finally snap out of her stillness. Of course, she knows that her father is using her here, but it doesn’t mean that she’s gullible. She simply doesn’t have more option and she believes in him as his definite ultimate devotee. It’s when he continue advancing and try to touch her face that Chané feels the snarls pulling at her face and tries to slash the man in white. However, her adversary doesn’t seems phased and simply continue grinning and kick her face while evading the knife.

She feels the mask on her face rattle for a moment, nearly losing it as she rolls at the top of the train, but manages to catch it with the back of one of her hand. She doesn’t know why she values the mask so much. But she knows she doesn’t want to lose it in the commotion.

She can almost hear the ghastly grin that is probably on his face as this freak continues taunting her:

‘‘Shall I say the first thing I’ll do when I get off this train? I’m gonna kill Huey Laforet!’’

Chané is still laying on her back as the man stands in front of her and taunts her. She can feel herself frown as she slowly gets on her feet once again. She knows that she shouldn’t answer or let herself be touched by his jab, yet anger is burning inside of her. It’s difficult to let herself be unaffected as this opponent as he continues yammering:

‘‘To be honest, I didn’t have any interest in killing you. But you seems different than all the others in those black suits. They thought that they never going to get killed, so I killed them. Yet, you have a different vibe, as if you’re putting your life on the line for something, despite the mask hiding your little doll face…’’

As the white suit mention the mask, Chané almost instinctively make sure that it’s still firmly on her face. It would have been easy to lose it, either in the shuffle or due to the winds cursing at the top of the train. The man seems more amused than annoyed by the fact he can’t see her face. It’s then than Chané realize that he isn’t able to see any of her expression and so, her almost only mean of communication has been cut, since she’s still holding her knives in both hands. Though, even as she slowly continue to back away from him and doesn’t answer, this enemy continues advancing and trying to provoke any kind of answers from her :

‘‘So what’s the lowdown here, what’s with the mask on your face? Is it the symbol of some kind of cult? Does it even matter? Probably not!’’

That’s when he launches himself at her, punching and kicking, while he continues screaming at the top of his lung:

‘‘What is it? What’s up with you? I’m sure you’re a real pip underneath that mask, yet you refuse to take it off! Is that why you won’t answer me? I like my broad more on the silent side anyway, but should I try to tear that mask right out of your face? Just like I will tear your precious absolute master, Huey Laforet, away from you!’’

She feels the mask rattle again against her head, as well as the train still continue to shake underneath her feet as she evades from her enemy. Moving left and right, rolling on as the trains roll on and on, parry, deflect, continue to dance until she catch a kick head first.

The shock make her fall from the top of the wagon and for a moment, she’s free falling before one of her trusted knife catch on the side of the train. Her entire body is shaken as the momentum of the moving vehicle still tries to drag her far behind to the rails. Chané feels her muscles clench and pull and she finally pulls herself up, planting her second knife and making the slow and difficult task of climbing on top of the moving car once again.

She taste blood on her tongue as her heart beat is the only thing she hears other than the deafening sound of the train and the wind rushing on by. The mask hasn’t somehow fallen off.

She’s not surprised once she finally regain grip with her boots that the gentleman dressed in white is already waiting for her, pistol waiting. She’s a little more taken aback when once she’s back on her feet and launching herself at him that she feels her knife nicks his ear. She even evades his punch and manages to back away from him.

This doesn’t seem to dissuade him however. The smirk that is still pulling at his face remains Chané of a predator playing with his catch before mercifully eating it.

‘‘I’ll kill him! Even if he’s immortal, I’ll kill him right in front of you. That will teach him not to take such a laid-back attitude on life as if he’s never gonna get killed. And, well, what are you going to do about it, Chané?’’

She doesn’t like the way he says her name. Slowly and smoothly, as if he’s whispering it in her ears and she isn’t sure why it makes her feel so uncomfortable. She’s entirely prepare to pull those feeling to the side and simply hurl herself at him again when she feel a strong grip on the blade of one of her knife stopping her entirely.

It’s when she turns around and first see the hand stained red by blood gripping tightly her knife that she feels for the first time in a long while her heart nearly miss a beats.

And when her vision travels from the red stained hand to the arm covered by a long black coat to arrives at the familiar vision of a white mask covering the head of a man with fiery red hair that she feels herself blush underneath the same mask still covering her face.

Death is finally back for her after all this time she’s waited.

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


\- Small interlude. -

  
  


Czeslaw Meyer is in a bit of a conundrum.

He wants to run, he wants to just throw it all away and run, run, run, like a scared little child. He knows there’s another immortal on that train and this is enough to make him forget how much he lived and endured and how he survived all this, that he can do this. And yet, now he’s back to being a scared little child and he hates this, he just want someone to hold him in their arm and tell him that it’s going to be alright and as much as he hates this, _he hates this so much_ , he wants Fermet with him, Fermet before all things turned to shit, Fermet, the first person that gave an home to him and yet, it’s so twisted and wrong, yet he wants _Fermet_ , Fermet, Fermet…

A small chuckle escape him despite his panic. Thinking about it, he guess that Fermet is now definitely a part of him in more than one way.

As Czes is sitting and trying desperately to think, just think of something, as his legs just want to run away, _run, please run_ , but no, he has to see the other immortal, he has to find them before they find him. He has to kill them before they kill him. He has no other way to do this, because if he run, if he does nothing, they will find him eventually and he will be devoured, he will be dead and maybe it’s better this way, but _he’s so scared, he’s so scared, why can’t he stop being a child_.

He’s so lost in his thought that he almost doesn’t notice the figure dressed entirely in black pass through the car that he’s sitting in. It’s only when his frame stop in the alley next to his bench that he slowly turn toward it. The sight of a very familiar white mask greets his eyes.

  
  


Czes is petrified for a moment and as he feels his body trembling, he tries his hardest to put on his best facade for the reaper:

‘‘ Have you come for me, Mister?’’

This is not the first time they’ve met. As you become an immortal, you become used to see Death appear in front of your eyes while you live your abnormally long existence. Czes can’t help but to feel rattle each time he see the long black trench coat and the expressionless white mask bearing its user face. It’s sometime the same person as last time, sometime it’s a different person.

The first ever Death he witnessed, even though he was too young to remember it, was a young woman that was just entering her teens and who had long blond hair. She was the Death that had come for his own parents. She was so small at the time, yet the black coat made her seem larger instead of drowning her like the responsibilities resting on her shoulders.

This Death - _His_ Death, maybe-is male by his stature and have red hair escaping from the top of the white mask. The contrast between the two somehow makes the mask seem even whiter, white as an oleander, white white leaves, like the toxic flower blooming on the mask.

It stay silent for a little too long for Czes to feel comfortable. He tries to back away from the figure just standing in the alley, but he can’t back away really far before being pressed against the train wall. In the first case scenario, at least there’s a window, so if things turns south, at least he has the option to jump if anything happens.

Sure, it’s going to hurt, but he’s ready for pain anyway.

  
  


As the man if front of him stay silent, Czes keeps his front and as he tries to hide the fact that’s shivering, he ask once again:

‘‘Hey, Mister… Have you come for me?’’

He can’t quite shake the slight hope he hears in his own voice.

  
  


The being still doesn’t answer and stand just as still as before. If Czes hasn’t seen Death before more than once, he would almost think the person in front of him could be a figment of his imagination just because of how static it is standing. But Czes know that he can’t trust his eyes and that the monster in front of him is real and if he didn’t want to run away before, now his nerves, everything in his body is screaming at him to run, run, please _run_.

Yet, he keeps his own mask on his face and continue gently talking to the man with the white mask:

‘‘Hey Mister.. Have you come to kill me? Have you come to hurt me? Go ahead and do it. I won’t yield to the violence a person like you can do to me. I’m far more used to pain than the likes of you!’’

The figure still doesn’t say anything, but very slowly (Czes feels his heart beating in his ears as the stranger moves oh so delicately, as if his whole body is in slow motion) sits next to him. When the man in black finally opens his mouth, even if Czes can’t see his expression because of the mask on his face, he feels the way the man- the monster- is smiling as he talks and he has flashbacks. It reminds him of the familiar smirk pulling on his guardian face as he hold a pair of heated tongs and Czes feels the burning in his eyes once again and he’s trying so hard not to cry. Somewhat, not seeing his captor face and expression behind the mask isn’t so bad. But the fact he can’t see the monster eyes, the eyes he can barely see in his own memories, he feels like his head has been pushed under water and what the figure say is somehow muffled, only registering very slowly to Czes:

‘‘ You seem ready for Death, Czeslaw Meyer. Yet, as you say this, are you sure you’re really ready for this amount of pain? If it was the case, can you explain what was the scent of anxiety I felt in your eyes as I stood before you?’’

Csez can’t help but flinch when the demon takes on of his hands in his own - much larger and covered in flecks of blood. The monster bring the child hand to his mask and he’s so close to the young boy when he says:

‘‘ All I ask of you is that you don’t cause harm to the innocent passengers of this train. If you do as I say, you can continue on your way without ever having to see me again, not before a while or at least I hope. However if you even think again of causing the death of any innocent person on board…’’

His hand is still prisoner of this devil and even if Czes is desperately trying to escape his catcher grip, he only can scream and cry as he feels slowly each bones delicately getting broken and crushed as the flesh is squeezed and squeezed to the point it’s exploding under the unforgiving inhuman strength. Yet, the figure still doesn’t release his hand and continue gripping it and breaking it, clutching the mess of flesh, broken bones being shattered more and more and blood oozing out of the wound. As the blood splash the black coat of the man in front of him, Czes slowly starts to understand why the hands he saw were already stained red.

‘‘... The way of the pain I will inflict on you might just make you forget to come back to life.’’

Czes suddenly realize just how ludicrous it was of him to have thought of begging for Death in the first place.

\- End of the interlude. -

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


As Death is holding her blade and standing right behind her, Chané feels herself blush underneath the mask she is still wearing.

She somehow doesn’t expect to hear his voice when he gently say to her:

‘‘Hello. It’s been a while.’’

Chané turns around and present her second knife to him, defensively, as he finally let go of the other one and raise his arm almost looking apologetically. 

‘‘Careful there, I thought you wouldn’t try to attack me anymore.’’

If she could talk, she isn’t sure she would say anything to that. More so, she is taken aback because Death has never seem so… Chatty with her before. They have talked twice, if you counted the first time he said a word to her. Even if their talk the second time was quite lengthy, she still has built this image of the grim reaper in her head. Death is this tall, imposing figure, standing still in his long dark coat, hiding behind this expressionless white mask and most of all, he’s silent. However, now that she’s really looking at him, he seems almost… Soft. Even though he’s still taller than her (and definitely will always be, she know that by this point), he doesn’t seem quite so towering as he once did and his demeanour appeared as non-threatening as possible toward her. Even if reading his body language is a little hard considering how close he is standing to her. But that already say a lot about what the situation was at the moment.

And even if she wants to indulge in the presence of Death by her side, Chané hasn’t forgotten that there is still an enemy standing right across from their location. The man dressed in white seems to be simply observing them without saying a word, probably trying to understand the scene taking place in front of his eyes.

Chané isn’t sure she can find an answer to this questions herself.

Death is simply standing there, looking at her and she isn’t sure she has found a place for him in her world quite yet. She feel like they are somehow still dancing around each other and this isn’t the best moment for her to consider what this means and what should she do.

‘‘… Are you concerned about our conversation being overheard? Is that it?’’

As much as Chané doesn't want to take her eyes away from the enemy still watching them, she couldn’t help but briefly glance at the reaper still standing impossibly close to her. The eyes she could scarcely see behind the holes in his mask were watching her with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. She suddenly realized that she never saw his eyes before. They were a this very light soft shade of brown with almost a red glare to them that she can only catch by moments when the lights hit them just right. It wasn’t quite what she expected, yet she couldn’t imagine anything quite as fitting for him.

She isn’t sure why she feels her inside flutter each them she meets Death’s eyes behind his mask. Still weary, she simply nods her head and quickly turn her head once again to observe the enemy dressed in white, knives raised ready to attack if he does anything. So far, he is still looking at them and their conversation, but she can read the sign of annoyance on his face, especially once the reaper open his mouth again:

‘‘ Very well… Shall I help you a bit then?’’

It was then that their spectator finally tires of his role simply watching their interaction and ask loudly, across from them:

‘‘Who the hell are you?’’

Chané can hear the smirk in Death voice as he answers:

‘‘Does it matter? You’ve never cared enough to see me before this day, but this isn’t the first time we’ve met, Ladd Russo.’’

This seemed to have shaken the man - Ladd- a bit, but almost immediately, he seems to shake the shock off and be right back to snarling at them. The way he’s standing, everything in his poise screams predator! Dangerous, dangerous! That’s the way Chané interprets it anyway, he seems to be ready to jump at their neck at any moment and dig his teeth in. He resembles a wild creature in that way, slowly inching closer and closer to them as he growled at them:

‘‘Are you menacing me?’’

‘‘Far from it! I was just letting you know I was in a talking mood.’’

‘‘I’m not in the mood for talking if you’re not answering me!!’’

Chané didn’t have enough time to process that there was knife thrown toward them and didn’t flinched until well after it had already been caught by the deft fingers of Death. She wasn’t quite thrown off by the sharp object hurled at them, but by the ease and the skill it must have took her partner to have expertly caught it before she could even see that he moved. Death shook his head a little, almost seeming to be entertained by the attack toward them. He slowly backed away from her and moved more toward Ladd. You could still hear the clear enjoyment in his voice when he replied to the other man:

‘‘Oh, now, we don’t want that, do we?’’

The other man didn’t say anything other than a slight growl before sprinting forward and trying to punch his adversary. In a move too smooth to be human - too smooth to be executed by anyone- Death simply let himself fall backward to avoid the punch and Chané was almost worried for a moment that he would simply fall toward the rails. Once Ladd had finished to throw his punch, he also seemed petrified for a moment by the inhuman movement. Death simply redressed himself and jumped to regain his footing at the top of the moving train, while doing a front flip no less. The man in white was already running toward him to attack once again, but Chané couldn’t let him do that. Running in between them with both knife in her hands, she made sure to make him properly back off while Death was simply behind her, watching. 

She couldn’t quite read him like this, but she thought she had seen a small gleam of pride behind his mask as she defended him against their mutual opponent.

While the fight had already lasted a while already, Ladd appeared even more unhinged. The apparition of Death must have truly shook him off. His eyes were now completely dilated and and for the first time since they started their fight, Chané can see their blue colour as well as a few red blood vessel in the whites of his sclera. Strangely enough, this reminded her of morning glories and their blue and purple petals, though the shade of Ladd eyes was much lighter.

‘‘Stop screwing around!’’

‘‘ I’m not the one screwing around here. You are free to attack me if you want, but just know that you will not ever be able to touch me.’’

The composure in which the reaper see this sentence seems to put the murderer even more on edge. If Ladd wasn’t already foaming at the mouth before, he certainly is now, as he continue running and pointlessly punching. His fists continued to be evaded by Death in movements so smooth, you’d almost think he was dancing. This seems to enrage the man in white even more as he continue attacking while ranting:

‘‘ Oh? Are you one of those hypocrite that think that they won’t die no matter what? You people are all the same! Listening to your crap logic, thinking you are so strong, you are unbeatable! Well, it’s guys like you that I take a pleasure killing!!’’

Still perfectly evading the man dressed in white, the reaper seemed to continue answering to his taunt, still in the same amused tone, as if he was playing with his prey too, just like the other man had done with Chané not so long ago.

‘‘It’s not just some delusion! You don’t even realize who you are talking to, don’t you, Ladd Russo? Death won’t ever come to me, because I’m at the center of the world. I can’t die, because the world is mine and I’m the judge, the jury and the executor. You won’t ever be able to touch me, because I’m far stronger than you. The superiority I hold over you, it’s not just strength or egoism, but because one day you will die. And while on that day, you will disappear from the world - My world- I will continue to exist. Because this world is mine.’’

Chané wasn’t sure why it was so fascinating to hear the man talking like this. She continued to stay on her guard, reader to defend the Reaper against Ladd at any moment where he seemed in difficulty, but at this point in the fight, the odds were clear. While Ladd seemed visibly tired, breathing more and more difficulty as the man in the mask continued to evade his attacks, Death was still standing incredibly still, not seemingly affected by the fight in any way. And now that she had this unique glance into his world, Chané could finally understand him a little more. His vision of reality - His world, it wasn’t so different from the one view Chané had on her own personal world, with her and her father at the center. And she believed that she could make a place for Death at the center of this world too.

The two men continued to fight and dance around each others, exchanging blow and dodging the other. Chané wasn’t sure when the change in the man in the white suit occurred, but - Suddenly his lips that were previously pulled in a snarl - It was stretched in a truly mad smirk while Ladd Russo continued screaming:

‘‘ Oh, this is going to be fun. You are a real abercrombie, aren’t you? If you’re this so called Master of the world, mysterious man in a mask - Seriously what’s with you and that doll white mask, are you in some kind of cult? - How do you want me to kill you?’’

Death seemed to take a moment to think about his answer.

‘‘ Now, that’s funny to me… You won’t kill me and I don’t think it is your time yet, Ladd Russo. But you will throw yourself off this train by your own free will. And then I will be able to continue the lovely conversation you so rudely interrupted by your presence.’’

Ladd seemed almost to want to say something else in response to that - after all, it was more Death that had disturbed his and Chané fight by his sudden appearance- but before he could say anything, he seemed to notice something at the other end of the wagon:

‘‘ Lua! What are you doing here?!’’

  
  


It takes a moment for Chané to understand what the two men were watching so intently. A woman in a white dress at just pulled herself on the top of the train with them. She seemed shaky, at just emerged from the wagon and wasn’t quite on her feet just yet. Still, she was looking in their direction and was slowly trying to go toward them. She couldn’t mistake the clear panic she could now see in Ladd blue eyes, but… The way all of Death attention was on that woman left her with a bad taste in her mouth.

The way this Lua was looking their way, with this almost crazed look in her own eyes certainly wasn’t helping to calm the unease Chané was feeling.

Once again, Death moved so fast that she didn’t even register he was gone until he was standing next to the woman. She could slightly hear the way Ladd was screaming at Lua to get away and run, but the words were barely able to register in her brain as her attention was all on the way Lua was looking at the reaper. The clear fascination in her face - It wasn’t the same way her father had looked at Death, but it was similar enough to throw her off. These eyes looking at him like that - It made this strange fluttering feeling tickle her inside and Chané wanted to scream at him to get away from this woman and she didn’t know why. It was not like Lua was a menace to him, with the way she was still stumbling, like a baby fawn, simply to get back on her feet. But the fact that she had this expression on her face and this look in her face - this clear attraction toward Death... With both knives in her hands, Chané started running toward them, not even sure what she wanted to do.

She was almost immediately stopped by Death who simply turned toward her and looking at her from behind his mask. It was weird to see him so far away when they had been standing next to each other a moment ago. She wasn’t quite sure why Death attention had made her stop. However, it seemed to bind her in place for just enough time for the other woman to also notice her presence.

Chané finally understood that the captivation Lua had on her face wasn’t quite from looking at Death himself. Because if so, how could she explain the way her eyes dilated even more when catching her in her field of vision. It also didn’t explain the way the slight smile she had on her lips grew and grew to become almost manic, the enchantment on her face becoming obsession.

She wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at the mask. The mask Death was wearing and the mask that Chané herself was still wearing.

This realization startle her for a moment, enough that she again missed Death movement. Or maybe he was simply moving too fast for the mortal eyes? But anyway, one moment he was standing over the woman and the next he had tied a rope around her neck and was throwing it on a passing structure on the side of the rails.

Chané could hear perfectly the way Ladd choked a little on his breath and for a moment - She’s almost sorry for him, because even though he’s a murderer, he clearly seems to care about the woman. So, it’s no surprise to her, once Death had backed off and look toward them, waiting for Ladd to do something, try to save the woman - With no hesitation, he jumped off the train holding the woman in his arms.

They seems to share a small moment in the air, looking at each other, their white clothes in the dark blue of the night, fluttering away like petals swiped by wind. The sun just starts to peek toward the horizon, dying the night sky a lovely dark purple, like morning glories. As the couple disappear away, the man protecting the woman in his arm with such devotion Chané can only hold admiration until her attention is once again caught by Death standing by her side

He’s once again incredibly close to her and he only have to whisper for her to hear his next words:

‘‘So, we’re finally alone now… What shall we do?’’

  
  


|.X.|

  
  
  


Back when Claire Stanfield is a young children, both his parents dies and leave him an orphan. It is the first time he sees Death.

He’s raised by his neighbours, the Gandors, for a little while. There, he gains three older brothers and a new father and even if he’s the youngest and still a child, it’s hard to hide from your new adoptive son that you’re a part of the underworld. Especially if you have Death occasionally following you around the small apartment they all are sharing. 

Claire guess that he’s happy enough. He doesn’t really recall what having a family felt like before, but what he has now - What is part of his world now - It’s happy enough for him to simply let himself enjoy things.

The stranger in the white mask is the first strongest memory he has of his previous life. And he’s not sure what this feeling inside of him is every time he gets to see the reaper means - But it makes Claire feel at home in his new family, having this presence almost constantly in the background.

He knows Berga doesn’t see the figure. He had asked him once and Berga had thought he was making fun of him, playing a prank. He isn’t sure about Keith, but Claire thinks that he can see them too. He never ask him though, for the same reasons he doesn’t ask his father the same thing. It will be rude to, he thinks.

Luck though. Luck definitely sees Death too.

He seems to be terrified by the reaper, contrary to the comfort they bring to Claire.

He always try to make himself look smaller when they happen to be in the same room. He never engages with them, never talk to them as if acknowledging the presence of the person in the long black coat is a big taboo, as if it would be losing the game. Yet, with his mind, Luck could easily best Death in a game of wits. Yet, everything he tries to bring the subject, he doesn’t want to talk about it with Claire. Claire respect that about his brother and his best friend. He doesn't feel that it’s Luck being a coward. Just Luck is a lot harder to understand with layers and layer of complexity that it’s easy to get lost when you come close to him. Of course, that is only if he lets you approach in the first place.

  
  


Claire had always thought Luck name was a little strange. Named after a concept, as if wishing happenstance and opportunity over the child. And according to Luck himself, it was once tradition for parents to name children after virtues they wished to bestow upon them. Luck who is so smart, who reads poems and nonfiction alike, yet Luck who is so soft for the people close to him. His mind is sharp like a knife, a weapon well cared for and yet, his heart is so pure, Claire almost wish he could just capture it for himself.

He’s not sure he would describe Luck as particularly fortunate. But he likes the concept of being named like this. To be named after something intangible

His own name can also be interpreted. Luck had told him so, Claire could mean something bright, who is clear as light, free from flaws and imperfection. And as beautiful and idyllic this description of his name is, Claire also know it can mean plain and evident to the eyes. Luck doesn’t say that of course, because he is kind, far too kind. Even if it can describe him with the way he express his feelings, obvious for the world to see, the name never really seem to fit him.

When his adoptive father dies, he’s almost so used to seeing Death that he doesn’t really feel sad that he has to part away for his brothers and the common friends they have in New York city. After all, the figure in the white mask seems to be coming with him, so he can’t really feel lonely.

And so many fun new opportunity are open in front of his eyes! Maybe it’s those new perspectives, those circumstances that makes him inches closer to Death coat as they are lying together in the wagon going to the circus. It’s with no shame in his voice - Clear and bright, like light, that he ask: 

‘‘What is your name?’’

Somehow, he doesn’t expect to hear them response, yet he isn’t surprise or startled when he hears the sound of their voice:

‘‘I was once known as Felix Walken.’’

  
  


Now Claire know for sure he’s going to be alright as long as Death is standing by his side. And maybe if he can start learning from them- He would be more than OK.

What he has suspected for a long time turns out to be true - They are old and are becoming tired, lonely and bored of the job. Nonetheless, it still takes a few months to convinces them to take him under the lapel of their dark coat and to give him a mask of his own.

He’s no longer Claire Stanfield.

  
  


The next time they see each other, Luck doesn’t recognize him anymore. Or maybe he simply refuse to acknowledge his presence and new appearance. He can only hope that it is the truth.

  
  
  


Yet, Death doesn’t regret his decision

  
  


|.X.|

  
  


‘‘Now… What shall we do?’’

Chané wasn’t sure what she could answer to Death question. Already, he had come closer to her once again and she felt as usual, dominated by his larger than life presence. She could hear clearly the affection on his voice, but she hadn’t yet put down all her defence yet. She was still gripping very tightly both the knives in her hands, yet she could feel her heart beating fast in her chest, like a scared bird trying to escape its cage.

As Death continued to advance, Chané instinctively raised her knife in front of her once again. He didn’t seemed to mind as he once again gently took one of the blade with the tip of his red stained fingers. As he does this, he gently reached his other hand toward her face

His hands were so gentle. Chané could feel it on the grip Death had on her knife. If she had wanted, she knew that she could easily free the blade and try to attack him. Yet she didn’t move, even as the hand slowly approached and landed so delicately on the mask still resting on her face. The hands are so patient with her and she can hear the affection in the grim reaper voice as he ask:

‘‘You’re afraid, aren’t you? What are you afraid for?’’

Afraid, this is what she is feeling, she’s afraid, isn’t she? She doesn’t know how Death manages to read her so accurately. It’s like he’s reading her thoughts and she suddenly feel so exposed in her confusion. She isn’t sure herself what she is afraid of. It’s not of him. Not anymore and even when she was simply pretending to be brave and of not flinching when his dark figure appeared in front of her eyes, Chané wasn’t feeling terrified either. Death always brings with him another kind of feeling completely. Things she has never felt before and she is pretty sure will never feel again with anyone else but him.

Chané continues to contemplate his question and can’t help but to think about her father. She has never felt afraid being with him. She has felt afraid for him, as he is her father and she must protect him at all cost. It is with a sense of duty that she does what she needs to do and with no fear in her heart. And as Huey is a very important part of her world, Death have become equally as important. So why is she afraid in that moment?

‘‘ Hmmm, I see… After having him as the only other part of your world for so long, it’s difficult to let another in. Not only are you worried it will shatter, accepting me would mean you won’t have just Huey either to protect.’’

Once again, she doesn’t know how he can pinpoint her thought exactly. Of course she’s worried of what accepting him means for him. But not only that, but also what it could mean if Death decided to leave her behind. Even if she know he will always come back to her eventually, Chané doesn’t want things to continue as they did before. When she has to wait for him to appear in front of her eyes, when they can only steal short moment of time together. It never seems to be enough time for her. Yet it last an eternity as Death continue talking:

‘‘You know as your father is an immortal, technically I can’t do anything to him. His soul will continue on and on. Most immortals are like this, so they have accepted Death to be permanently at their side, keeping them company in their long eternity.’’

Chané look at Death curiously, trying to understand his point. She nods at him to continue:

‘‘So, if you were to come with me… You could continue to be by his side for as long as his soul is here.’’

Chané almost back away completely from him. Her heart is beating even faster in her chest, like the wings of a hummingbird. What is he suggesting by…?

‘‘ Woah there! I wasn’t suggesting that you’d replace me or anything! After all, I quite like being Death. What I was saying by this… Is that you could come with me. And we will be together. And together, we could protect Huey. What do you say about that?’’

She isn’t sure what to answer. Chané isn’t even sure she fully understand what Death is proposing. What sort of engagement he is trying to offer her. But she understand that she would be able to protect her father. And that she wouldn’t have to watch Death leave her sight. And she wouldn’t have to be afraid of her world shattering because he wouldn’t have to disappear from it.

She didn’t feel a lie in his words. Not when he was proposing to her to stay by his side anyway. When Death said he technically couldn’t do anything to immortals like his father, Chané knew that even if technically it wasn’t a full on lie, he was bending the truth slightly. She doesn’t know how she can say with certainty that Death wasn’t lying to her. But Chané has this pure and sure feeling in her heart. And when she once again meets Death eyes behind his mask, she knows that he had understood her perfectly.

‘‘Are you sure? We will get to a river soon. If you don’t want to be a part of this, I suggest you jump off there. You would be safe.’’

She already sliding both her knife in her skirt to put them away before he finishes his sentence. Her hands reaches for his face when his own red stained ones stop them. She feels disappointment gets stuck in her throat for a moment, when Death surprise her by sliding off her gloves away from her hand. He start at her elbow and seem to caress the pale flesh so delicately, Chané is sure that her cheeks must be completely red by now. She feels them burning.

When Death finally guides her bare hand toward his head once again, he gently lies one of her hand at the nap of his neck, where Chané can feel a few strands of red hair she could easily play with if she brings her hand a little higher. He pose the other hand on his mask just next to the flower design blooming on it.

Chané still isn’t sure what kind of flower is blooming on his mask. But in her heart, she hopes it’s an heliotrope.

  
  


Death gently remove his hands from her own. Chané isn’t sure if she should move hers or not. However her thought are all put in shamble as Death slowly start lifting his mask up to reveal a strong jaw and a pair of pale pink lips. She doesn’t quite see his nose, but she can see a few freckles scattered on his skin. They seem almost out of place, yet once again they are strangely fitting for the man.

When he leans down to kiss her, she can feel his warmth pressing on the mask she is still wearing.

  
  


She leaves the hand she has left on her mask, to touch her own. With a moment of hesitation, Chané looks toward him. He’s put on the mask correctly once again. Maybe it’s why she lift her own and stand on the tip of her toes to press a gentle kiss to it.

‘‘ Is this your answer then?’’

She nods.

She knows that he’s smiling.

  
  


‘‘ Very good. I promise I will love you too.’’

  
  


And with a flurry of movements, he’s moving her out of the way of a bullet directed at her. And with a toss of his long coat, they disappear from the top of the train like a gust of wind.

  
  
  


|.X.|

  
  


Jacuzzi is gripping very tightly the end of the wagon.

His heart is still beating so fast in his chest that it’s hard to realize that everything is over quite yet. And the pain he feels all throughout his body makes it very hard for him to string clear thoughts in his head. But he can say he’s proud of himself, especially when he hears a very clear familiar voice shout his name with both concerns and reliefs.

He’s so happy to see Nice that he simply lets her pull him up, her hand in his and when it’s done, he collapses in her arms for a moment. He knows that she’s worrying about him and would much prefer they go address his wounds right away, but he can’t help but steal this little moment of comfort. Breathing in her familiar scent, he feels so at ease. He never knew that he could love the smell of gunpowder and iron, yet he loves everything about Nice. He’s so relieved to see that she manages to keep herself safe. She is so brilliant all the time, with her invention and her bomb and he makes sure to tell her so. He tells her just how happy he is that they managed all this. That they’ve accomplish everything that they had planned and that sure, the plan had derailed a little. But they were all safe and sound and that everything was all right.

The slight smile that was illuminating Nice’s lips was as beautiful as the morning sun slowly rising from the horizon. Her arms around him feels so good, he almost doesn’t want for her to let go, if only for an instant.

He feels so happy in that moment that he could die. Death could come for him and he would embrace it.

  
  


It’s after Jacuzzi had this thought that he notices the two figures dressed in black standing just a little farther away at the top of the train. And he has a dry laugh, because he wasn’t literal. And of course, only him could ever have his luck.

He feels a little like he’s about to faint, because of the blood lost. But he make sure to press a gentle little kiss to one of Nice cheeks before he says:

‘‘ I know I may have always cried a little much until now… But those tears, they count toward you as well. So even if bad things should happens next, don’t cry. It’s going to be alright. I’ll be by your side.’’

He’s not looking at her. He’s afraid of what kind of look she would have on her face. Plus, Jacuzzi doesn’t want to take his sight away from the two figures opposing them. He can’t know what they are thinking, not with the mask that is hiding both of their features, but he knows they are watching them. Nice naturally knows that something is wrong and as she turns to also face the strangers, Jacuzzi almost want to cover her eyes, as if only the sight of them could curse her.

Yet, as much as he doesn’t want to do this, he’s ready to do what he must do. He stands up on his legs and they hurt so bad, he can feel them trembling. His head feels hazy and his vision is shaking slightly, yet he remain firm and simply endure. Because he knows that they are coming for him, so the natural thing is to go and greet them. If he simply walks toward them, it will be a lot easier than simply letting himself fade away and wait for them to finally approach him.

He tells himself that he is not afraid. He doesn’t want to cry for this. So, Nice doesn’t have to cry too.

  
  


It’s already so hard to stay on his feet, taking the first step toward them feels like agony. Like he’s already dying a little inside, yet the first step is taken and the second, the third, the fourth fallows more easily. He doesn’t even realize that he is running until he see Death raise one of his arm and stops him with a movement of his fingers. For a moment, Jacuzzi is reminded of a devil, yet as he sees the way Death look at his partner by his side…

He thinks he can starts to understand.

He feels his bottom lips quivering as they seem to exchanges this tender look between them. They are holding each other hands and they fit together so perfectly with their black clothes paired with the white mask on their face. 

Jacuzzi feels his heart beats even faster in his chest.

  
  


A ray of light from the morning sun briefly blinds him for a moment and once he looks once again, they are gone. Somehow, Jacuzzi knows that they spared him for a reason or another.

He suspects it’s because of the love he could so clearly see blooming between them. He saw a little too much of himself there too.

  
  


Almost immediately, he collapses back on his knees. Nice is already there to support him. She takes care to bear his weight on her, holding him close to her. He can feel that her hands, usually so steady are trembling slightly. He’s not sure if they are trembling of fear or of relief. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling himself. Except love. Love is burning so fiercely, it’s difficult to miss.

‘‘Jacuzzi, what was that?’’

He thinks a moment to think of the answer. When it comes to him, it is so clear in his head that he blurts it out:

‘‘Death and Love by each other side.’’

Nice seems confused for a moment:

‘‘ Wait… Which of them is who?’’

‘‘They’re both. It’s simple as that.’’

  
  


It's really as simple as that.

This is a story about Love.

This is a story about Death.

  
  
  


This is their story together.

**Author's Note:**

> Flower meaning (according to the research I’ve done. If a flower had multiple meanings, the meaning I chose is to go accordingly to the context of the scene/characters): 
> 
> Purple Larkspur : First love  
> Spider Lily: Death, the afterlife  
> Azalea: Femininity, softness  
> Wisteria: Long life, immortality  
> Edelweiss (Jacuzzi’s flower): Adventure/courage, devotion, great sacrifice  
> Oleander (Czes’s flower): Caution  
> Morning Glory (Ladd’s flower and Lua’s flower) : Mortality of life / Unrequited love  
> Heliotrope : Eternal love
> 
> Fun fact, all those flower (except the Edelweiss) are more or less toxic.
> 
> Hey... If hypothetically.... I was to write a Necromancer AU..... Anyone interested haha?  
> Also I'm very slowly working on the second part of my previous work, Cigarette Smoke, but it may still take a while for that one. I do invite you to read it if you haven't already! Make sure to read the tags though. 
> 
> Take care yall, bye :3


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